Uncharted Waters

by Rosemary McCracken

  “When I left the office yesterday afternoon. And if I’d witnessed Dean’s signature. Christ, can’t he read? I signed the document right after Dean did. My signature is under his.”

  “Were you with Dean when he sent it off?”

  “No. I scanned it after I signed it. Then I e-mailed him the PDF and left for the day.”

  “And you went straight to…where is it you tutor these kids?”

  She named an inner-city neighborhood known for an infamous public housing project. “Its community center is called Daycrest,” she said.

  “Right.” She’d mentioned the center’s name over lunch. “You had your usual session with the kids?”

  She nodded, chewing her lower lip.

  “Don’t take Hardy’s questions personally. He questioned me twice, just like you.” I stood up. “Let’s have something to drink. What would you like?”

  She was still on edge when I returned to the table. She took a sip of her cappuccino, then looked at me. “Hardy pretty well told me I was lying about everything I said. He knows what happened at the hospital. Said I have no credibility.”

  “Did you know that Dean left his business to his son in his will?”

  Her face was a mask of dismay. It didn’t seem to be an act, but she’d had access to everything in Dean’s office. She might well have come across his will.

  “It was an old will,” I went on, watching her closely. “Dean wrote it years ago, and he had clearly changed his mind about his son running his business. But if that wasn’t his signature on the agreement and the sale is invalid, Lukas will inherit the business.”

  She seemed to relax with this information. “So that’s what was behind Hardy’s questions.”

  “What else did he ask you?”

  “About people Dean knew. Clients or anyone who might have had it in for him.”

  “Disagreements with anyone?”

  “His clients all thought the world of him. And he had loads of friends. When he was away last winter, people were calling all the time to ask how he was.”

  So Dean was a popular guy. “He said his wife ran the practice while he recovered from his heart attack.”

  “Catherine came in every afternoon, and Dean started working from home as soon as he could.”

  “Is Catherine a financial planner?”

  “Not exactly. She taught personal finance at one of the community colleges. She left the college when Dean had his heart attack, and she hasn’t gone back.”

  “So she has a good knowledge of financial planning.”

  “She kept things running at the office. And, as I said, Dean worked from home.”

  Sam frowned. “Just before I left home, Catherine called to invite me to a visitation on Saturday.”

  “You’re going, of course.”

  She stared into her mug. “I should go, but I hate funerals…although it’s not a funeral. Catherine said there’ll be a private funeral when the police release Dean’s body.” She looked up at me. “Would you come with me?”

  “It’s a private gathering, and I haven’t been invited.”

  “I’ll ask Catherine if you can come. It’s at her home.”

  “I’ll go if it’s okay with Catherine.” Why not pay my respects to Dean’s widow, and check out Lukas?

  “What’s Lukas like?” I asked.

  Sam looked dejected. “Lukas has been out to get me for a long time. He found out what happened at the hospital, and he’s used that against me. Said I was undermining the integrity of his father’s business. Those were his very words. He kept asking Dean whether he could trust me.”

  A concern that I had as well.

  “Handwriting analysts are looking at the signature on the sale agreement,” I said. “If they determine that it’s Dean’s, I own the business. And as you know from the document you witnessed, you are part of the package.”

  Her eyes searched my face. I smiled at her and nodded.

  “You’re not tutoring this afternoon?” I asked.

  “I called in sick,” she said. “I can’t face the kids today.”

  “Go home and try to relax. When the signature is validated, we’ll have our work cut out for us. We’ll need to set up in new premises.”

  “We’ll be moving?” She stopped looping a purple scarf around her neck. “To another part of town?”

  “We have to move. The cleanup could take some time. I’m not sure where we’ll be going.”

  She winced, and got up from the table. “Thanks for the cappuccino. I’ll contact Catherine and get back to you.” She gave me a small wave.

  I lingered at the table with the dregs of my coffee. Through the window, I saw Sam unlock her bicycle outside the coffee shop. Another worry blossomed in my mind. Sam didn’t want Lukas to inherit the business, and she may have seen Dean’s will. After working closely with Dean for three years, she would know his signature. Had she forged it on the sale agreement?

  ***

  Shortly after I got home, a Kevin Pickett called from Coronation Property Management. He told me the disaster cleanup people hadn’t started work in Monaghan Financial’s suite. But he figured that, when they did, the job would take some time.

  “Is there another suite available?” I asked.

  “It so happens that there is. We manage the entire block, and the tenant down the street has just moved out. Would you like to see that suite?”

  I told him I’d meet him there in half an hour.

  A text from Ilona came through on the taxi ride to the Annex. Barry had spoken to most of my clients. He told them that I’d purchased Dean’s business, and I would be their new financial advisor. Those he hadn’t reached, he would try again that evening.

  The newly vacant suite above The Bloor Bookshop had a layout similar to Dean’s offices. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint, but that would be easy to remedy.

  “There’s air conditioning,” Kevin said, as he walked me through the rooms. “There’s no kitchenette, but there are plenty of eateries in this neighborhood.”

  The rent was the same as Dean had been paying. I was tempted to ask Kevin to draw up a lease right then and there, but I didn’t know whether I had a business to run. I explained my predicament to him.

  He said he understood, but he couldn’t hold the premises for me indefinitely. “Monday morning is the latest I can wait,” he said. “After that, it’s first come, first served.”

  ***

  I spent the rest of that afternoon and the next day stocking up on groceries and taking clothing to the dry cleaners. I bought a smart new trouser suit to wear on the day I opened the door to my new business.

  I had to keep believing that the business I’d purchased was mine.

  I kept my cell phone with me wherever I went, in case Ilona called. Or Hardy. I was in the parking lot of a supercenter when Sam reached me. “Hey, Pat! Catherine says you’re welcome to come to the visitation on Saturday. She’d like to meet you.”

  People would start gathering at 11 a.m., according to Sam. I arranged to pick her up outside a nearby subway station.

  I wondered if the reports from the handwriting experts would be in by then.

  I was shelving groceries at home when the doorbell rang. Farah, our housekeeper, answered it, with Maxie right behind her.

  Ilona breezed past them, holding a bottle of champagne aloft. “Excellent news, dahlink. You own your own business!”

  Chapter Ten

  Saturday was a glorious early-fall day, with balmy temperatures and a true-blue sky. Trees throughout the city had just begun to turn color. Toronto was at its very best on a day like this, and it was a perfect backdrop to my jubilant mood. I had been dancing on air since Ilona brought me the news that the handwriting experts had verified Dean’s signature.

  Sam was waiting outside the west-end subway station where we had arranged to meet. She was wearing the brown trouser suit I’d seen her in before. I wondered if that suit and the frayed denims were the extent of her wardrob
e. Then I remembered the $50,000 fine and the loan her parents had taken out to cover it. She hadn’t been earning big bucks working for Dean, and she wouldn’t be earning them with me, either. She couldn’t afford to blow money on clothes.

  The Monaghan home was a three-story mock Tudor on the west side of High Park. I pulled into a parking space down the street from it, then turned to Sam in the seat beside me. “By the way, I’m your new boss. Dean’s signature was approved.”

  She stared at me open-mouthed. “You’re not shittin’ me?”

  “No. The reports came in yesterday afternoon. They both said the signature on the sale agreement was Dean’s.”

  “Woo-hoo!” She punched a fist into the air. “Congratulations, Boss Lady.”

  “And we have a new office on the same block as your old one.”

  “Cool. I love the Annex. I was afraid we’d be, like, moving to the burbs.”

  “Are you free for an hour or two this afternoon? I’d like to show you our premises.”

  “You bet. I’m at your service.”

  A somber-looking man in gray trousers and a navy blazer opened the door and ushered us into a spacious room to the right of the hall. About 20 men and women were assembled, some seated on sofas and armchairs, others standing. There wasn’t a familiar face among them.

  “I’ll introduce you to Catherine,” Sam said.

  I followed her across the room to an elegant woman with coiffed salt-and-pepper hair, who was speaking to a younger woman in a server’s uniform. As soon she saw Sam, she broke off her conversation and gave her a hug. They had tears in their eyes when they drew apart.

  The woman turned to me. “You must be Pat Tierney. I’m Catherine Monaghan.” She extended a hand, and I clasped it.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “Thank you.” She closed her eyes for a moment, her face creased with pain. I knew how shattered she felt. My husband had been taken from me suddenly, too.

  Catherine pulled herself together. “There’ll be a church funeral, just for the family, on Tuesday,” she said. “But I wanted to gather some close friends—and Sam, of course—today so they could pay their respects to Dean.”

  “Are any of Dean’s clients here?” Sam asked.

  “The only client here is Ben Cordova, but he was a friend of Dean’s. He’ll give a short eulogy.” Catherine glanced at her watch and scanned the room. “Things will get underway shortly. I’ll talk to both of you later.”

  She said a few more words to the young woman in uniform and crossed the room to speak to a dark-haired man in his 30s who was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. I knew this must be Lukas. He was a younger, slighter-built version of Dean, with his father’s dark eyes and chiseled face.

  I glanced at Sam. “Lukas,” she muttered.

  Catherine had moved over to Ben, who had just slipped into the room. She whispered something to him, and Ben walked over to a podium in front of the bay window. He was wearing jeans and a brown corduroy jacket. A tie was his only concession to the occasion.

  The talk died down, and the mourners turned to face him.

  Ben cleared his throat. “We all have our memories of Dean, and what he meant to us. Devoted husband.” He smiled at Catherine. “Loving father. Dear friend. And a trusted financial advisor to many over the years.”

  He related a few anecdotes that drew smiles and chuckles from his audience. “Dean will be sorely missed,” he concluded as Lukas approached the podium.

  Lukas reached for the mic. “Ben neglected to mention that my father was murdered. Murdered! I swear I’ll do anything I can—with the police or without them—to bring his killer to justice.”

  Hardy will love Lukas interfering in the investigation, I thought, glancing around the room to see if the detective had arrived. I didn’t see him.

  “We all want Dean’s killer brought to justice,” Ben said. He draped an arm over Lukas’s shoulders. Lukas opened his mouth as if to protest and say more, but he allowed Ben to lead him back to the mourners.

  Catherine came up to the podium with a white-haired man in a black soutane and a Roman collar. “Father Bill McAllister will say a few words now,” she said. “Father Bill is a good friend of our family, and he’ll celebrate Dean’s funeral Mass on Tuesday.”

  I let my mind wander while Father Bill talked about his school days with Dean at St. Michael’s College School. The boys had been up to a lot of good-natured mischief back then, and the priest seemed to regard those days as the happiest in his life.

  Catherine returned to the podium when he had concluded. “Thank you, Father Bill.” She smiled at the people in front of her. “Please join us now for lunch. There’s a buffet in the dining room across the hall. And a bar will be set up at the back of this room.”

  “What do you think of Lukas?” Sam asked, as we made our way into the dining room.

  I chose my words with care. “Too early to tell,” I said. “I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

  The buffet was a lavish one: platters of smoked salmon and pickled herring, breads, salads, warming pans with lasagna, creamed chicken, and slices of roast beef. Sam seemed overwhelmed by it all. “Food here I’ve never seen before,” she whispered. “It’s, like, way over the top.”

  When we had filled our plates, Sam and I took chairs in the living room. Ben came over to us with a glass of beer in his hand.

  “Can I get you ladies anything to drink?” he asked.

  “I’ll have a coffee later,” I said.

  Sam shook her head. “No thanks.”

  He pulled up a chair and seated himself. “You got the business,” he said to me. “Congratulations.”

  I looked at him, surprised that he seemed happy I’d got it.

  “Considering what could have happened.” He grimaced. “I understand Dean left it to Lukas in his will, but he sold it to you before…Well, I could not work with Lukas Monaghan.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Lukas would be intolerable as a financial advisor.”

  I didn’t reply. Sam focused on the food on her plate.

  “Dean’s business would have jump-started Lukas’s career,” Ben added.

  Sam smirked. “But he didn’t get it.”

  He raised his glass. “To your success, Pat.”

  I told myself not to get my hopes up. Ben’s good wishes didn’t mean he would stay with me.

  “Who do you think killed Dean?” Sam asked him.

  I shot her a warning look. Did she think she was a police officer?

  Ben looked surprised by her question. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm him.”

  “Have the police questioned you?” she asked.

  “They have,” he said. “They told me they were talking to all Dean’s clients. We probably have you to thank for that, Sam.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, I gave them Dean’s client list. We want them to find his murderer, don’t we?”

  Hardy was hovering at the entrance to the room. He spotted me, and marched right over. “Mr. Cordova, Ms. Tierney, Ms. Reiss,” he said.

  “Detective Hardy is on the job.” Ben patted Sam’s knee, and stood up. “Time I got some food.”

  “Looks like Ms. Tierney is on the job as well,” Hardy said.

  I gave him a smile. “I’m paying my respects to Dean’s family.”

  He turned to Sam. “Feel easier now the signature’s been validated?”

  “I’m happy that Pat got the business,” she shot back. “It’ll be great working for her.”

  “Did the police ask you for the client list?” I asked her when Hardy had moved on.

  “Yeah, and I gave it to them. I mean, I had to, right?” she said. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I was about to say something about client confidentiality, but thought better of it. Given Sam’s past, she’d want to cooperate with the police if she could.

  “No, everything’s fine,” I said.

  “Would you like that coffee now?” she
asked.

  She took my empty plate and went to get us coffee. A moment later, Lukas took the chair she’d vacated.

  “I don’t understand why my father named me as his business successor in his will, then sold his business,” he said. “And sold it hours before his tragic death. There is something very fishy about that, Ms. Tierney. Rest assured I will be looking into it. I intend to claim my inheritance—my rightful inheritance.”

  He was implying that I had coerced Dean into selling me his business. And that I had something to do with his death. “If I hear this again,” I told him, “I’ll know where it came from.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” His voice was rising now. “This gathering is for my father’s friends.”

  Catherine came over to us. “Where are your manners, Lukas?” she asked, her brown eyes blazing. “Nobody raises their voice under my roof.”

  She watched Lukas stride away and turned back to me. “I’m sorry. He’s upset about his father’s death. And not getting the business.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I unlocked the street-level glass door and led Sam up a narrow flight of stairs to our new offices. At the top of the stairs, I unlocked a second door, and punched in our security code.

  We walked into a large room with a hardwood floor and a large picture window looking out on Bloor Street West.

  “This will be our reception area. Your desk will be here,” I said, pointing to a spot in front of the window. “We’ll have chairs for clients waiting for their appointments along this wall, and filing cabinets over here.”

  I gestured to another corner. “There’s no kitchenette, but I’ll set up a table over there, with a coffeemaker and an electric kettle. And I’ll get a small bar fridge for soft drinks and bottled water.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Sam said.

  I crossed the room and opened the interconnecting door to the second room. “This will be my office,” I said. The room was the same size as the reception area, with another large window overlooking Bloor Street West.